For Real
by Sakata Ri Houjun
Summary: A reincarnated Chichiri no longer believes in love, even after meeting the reincarnated Tasuki. Good thing Suzaku sent some old friends to help out. *at long last, the conculsion*
1. Default Chapter

For Real

*(1/6)

By Sakata Ri Houjun

~****************~ 

"The course of true love never did run smooth?"

Issac Ido sat motionless at the head of the highly polished, smudge-free table that bisected the boardroom of his New York office. He steepled his fingers together, and frowned. Instead of gazing directly at his newest associate, who sat midway down the table to his left, he studied his reflection in the sleek ebony. The only concession he made to acknowledge that he had heard him was an almost indiscernible arch to one elegant dark eyebrow.

Too new to Phoenix Advertising, Inc., to realize what that arched brow indicated, the young man licked his lips a little anxiously and continued. "It's already a familiar phrase. It would make for a memorable slogan."

Issac relaxed his eyebrow, tilted his head back to observe his associate more fully, and folded one hand over the other atop the proposal sitting previously untouched before him on the table.

The young man swallowed with some difficulty. "We, uh, we could call Malcolm's new perfume 'True Love,' and the whole campaign could revolve around Shakespeare. It's all right there in my prospectus."

Issac gazed at him levelly, but remained silent.

The young man tugged restlessly at his discreetly striped necktie. "The, um, the possibilities for mining Shakespeare's plays for ideas would be endless. We could easily carry the campaign well into next year, and we could include Malcolm's other fragrance products with it as well."

Issac drummed his fingernails over the shiny gray folder before him, and then slowly, very gradually, he smiled. "Mr. Harper," he began softly. "Did you by any chance have a minor in college?"

The young man smiled back at him and visibly relaxed. "Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. English."

"I see. So you must have a great love for literature."

"Yes, I do."

Issac smiled again. "Especially Shakespeare, I'll bet. Am I right?"

"You're right."

"Well, I think that's lovely. Has it occurred to you, however, Mr. Harper, that your average perfume buyer, regardless of her education, might not be particularly well versed in her Shakespeare?"

Harper's smile fell. "Um, no. I didn't really consider that."

"Consider it now."

The young man's eyebrows arrowed down in a deep V as he followed his instructions. He stared at his own reflection in the table for some moments, and then looked up again when he seemed to reach a conclusion.

"Well?" Issac asked.

"I suppose that if a consumer wasn't familiar with Shakespeare, then…"

"Then what?"

"Then a campaign that relied on his works might potentially be…um…"

"Yes?"

"Completely ineffective."

Issac nodded. "Yes. It would." He arced his gaze around the table, scanning his nine remaining associates. "Any other suggestions?" he asked idly.

A wave of silence was his reply.

He sighed heavily, pressed his fingers to his forehead in an effort to thwart an oncoming headache, and muttered, "Fine. Well, we have until next week. Keep working on it. Thomas?"

Thomas Ray, his aide, snapped to attention in the chair to his immediate right, and Issac tried not to flinch when he did so. Although he had been with Issac for nearly two years now, he still wasn't used to his uptight demeanor. His lively eyes were more black than brown, his complexion smooth and fair and unlined. In spite of that, it was impossible for him to gauge his age. He might be twenty-six or fifty-six, he had no idea. He wore his bluish-black hair swept straight back from his forehead, and he was always impeccably groomed, favoring dark, conservative suits.

"Yes, Mr. Ido?" Thomas replied quickly in the crisp, quiet tenor that always put Issac at ease.

"Are there any matters we need to address this morning?" he asked him.

He glanced quickly at the palm pilot before him.

"Only Mrs. Parmentier's Midsummer Masque."

Issac groaned. "Oh, no. Is it already that time again?"

"You've kept putting this off because of your new client, and now we have only a couple of weeks to prepare."

Adrienne Parmentier had been a Manhattan fixture for what seemed like an eternity, a widow with far too much money and time on her hands. As a result, two decades ago, she had begun sponsoring an annual fund-raiser for the arts which she had decreed the Midsummer Masque. Every head of every major corporation that claimed offices in Manhattan was invited, along with a hefty check for Mrs. Parmentier's charity.

"It seems like I just put away last year's costume," Issac muttered. "What kind of theme does she have going this year?"

Thomas consulted his pad again, then threw him a pitying look and made a quiet tsking noise. "This year's theme is Mystic China."

"Terrific. Is that all?"

"Yes, Mr. Ido."

"Then we're through here."

Ten people rose at once and exited single-file through the smoked glass doors that divided the boardroom from the reception area. When they were clear, another individual entered. The man made his way toward the collection of lush potted palms that lined like sentries before the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down on Madison Avenue on the other side of the room.

"Hello, Shawn," Thomas said absently as the man passed.

"Hi, Tommy," the man replied, turning casually to lift a hand in greeting. When he saw Issac, he stumbled a bit, but quickly righted himself. After a moment's hesitation, he added, "Hi, Mr. Ido."

Issac glanced up briefly at the man's arrival, but when he had seen it was only the guy who came to water the plants every Tuesday, he dropped his gaze again. At his greeting, however, his head snapped up in surprise. "Oh, hello," he said.

He was about to return his attention to Harper's prospectus, hoping to find something salvageable in the campaign, but the man turned again to make his way to the other side of the room, and, for some reason, Issac's gaze followed him. He had never noted how tall he was, nor how well built. His muscled shoulders strained beneath his shirt, tapering to a trim waist, and a truly remarkable derriere housed snugly in his jeans. When his gaze wandered upward again, Issac arched his brow once more. He noted the wild orange hair bound at his nape in a ponytail and frowned.

A grown man with a ponytail, he thought derisively, returning his attention to Harper's prospectus. Honestly. Some people refused to grow up.

"About Mrs. Parmentier's Masque?" Thomas asked him.

Issac leafed through the prospectus and only half-listened to his aide. "What about it?"

"You'll need an escort."

"Mmmm."

Thomas issued a sound that might have indicated frustration in a less reserved man. "Issac, if I may be so bold, you really must find a nice woman who would be an asset for occasions such as these."

"No, Thomas, you may not be so bold."

Thomas hesitated a moment, and, with much reluctance, capitulated. "Very well. Your usual?"

"My mother?" Issac shook his head. "There's no way she'd ever risk going in costume with me, even to a high society function."

"Your sister, then?"

"No can do. The new season started and so she'll be touring."

"Ah, yes," Thomas recalled. "The drama queen. But you still need an escort," he repeated.

For some reason, his attention returned to the man on the other side of the room, who was bent over one of the smaller palms, inspecting its leaves.

"Is that really necessary?" he asked. "Can't I go stag?"

Thomas threw him a chastising expression. "Mrs. Parmentier would be scandalized. You'd never hear the end of it."

"But you don't have to worry about it."

"It's my job to worry," he countered loftily. "And as I said, it would be most helpful if you knew of someone who would be…convenient…for these purposes. I can't tell you how many times I've-"

"Thomas."

"Yes?"

"Petulance doesn't become you."

He sighed impatiently. "My apologies."

"No need to apologize. You are my friend and, without question, the best aide I've ever had but matchmaking is not in your job description."

"Issac, just because you don't believe in romance doesn't mean-"

"Thomas."

"What?"

"Let me worry about Mrs. Parmentier, okay? I'll take care of an escort myself."

Obviously not satisfied by his reassurance, but clearly unwilling to press his luck, for the time being anyway, Thomas pocketed his palm pilot and stood.

Issac scarcely noticed his departure; so thoroughly disgusted was he by Harper's nauseatingly sweet campaign. True Love, he repeated to himself. Ick. What person in their right mind would wear a fragrance called True Love? The very suggestion of such a thing turned Issac's stomach.

"Issac?"

"Yes, Thomas?"

But when he looked up again, he realized it wasn't Thomas who had summoned him. It was the plant waterer. He was about to apologize for his error, but his breath caught in his throat. He had never been this close to him before, had never paid attention to his face. Now that he did, he realized that his face was quite extraordinary, narrow and strong, with beautifully arranged features. His nose was sharp, his lips turned up slightly over straight white teeth. And his eyes…

A deep sigh bubbled up unbidden inside Issac. His eyes reminded him of those belonging to a night creature he'd once seen on the cover of a National Geographic, so angular and bright, ringed with sooty lashes, and a vivid golden color he had never seen on another human being. Yet instead of being cool and distant, this man's eyes were warm and inviting. Too warm, he decided when an odd heat began to spiral up from his midsection. And way too inviting.

"I…I…I'm sorry," he finally stammered. "I…I…I thought you were Thomas."

"No, I'm Shawn," he said, his mouth broadening into a roguish smile. "Shawn Hane. I'm-"

"You're the guy who waters the plants every Tuesday," Issac finished for him without thinking.

His eyes fairly sparkled with delight. "Among other things, yeah. I'm flattered you noticed."

"No, I didn't-" he began to protest before realizing his statement indicated just the opposite. "I mean…um…"

Shawn towered over him, so he pushed his chair back and stood. Unfortunately, he found himself a couple of inches short of meeting his eyes, so instead he diverted his gaze a bit at his chest. And a rather noteworthy chest it was, he thought before he could stop himself. 

Shawn laughed, a rich, rumbling sound. "Anyways, I wanted to tell you that you have a fungus on one of your palms here."

Issac relaxed a little. "Oh?"

He scrubbed an open hand over his rough jaw. Issac found fascinating the gesture, and his gaze fixed on the long, blunt fingers that curved over his chin. "A little fungicide will take care of it," Shawn continued, evidently oblivious to his attention. "But you might want to avoid the boardroom for a while after I spray. I only use organic products, but the smell is kind of strong. I was just wondering when a convenient time would be to do that."

Issac inhaled deeply, filling his nose and lungs with the fragrance of him, something earthy and primeval and completely outside his experience. And to his utter embarrassment, he realized he had no idea what he had been saying.

"What?" he asked in a very small voice. "What did you say?"

He tried to convince himself that his smile was smug and dismissing, and that he should be offended by his insolence. Unfortunately, his smile seemed anything but smug, and it made Issac feel all warm and gooey inside. And much to his horror, he found himself wanting to smile back. How very odd.

"Is there a day of the week that you don't use this room?" he asked.

"Thursday," he replied, his gaze still lingering on his eyes.

"Would it be okay if I came back to spray on Thursday?"

"That would be fine."

Still he stared at his eyes, unable to look away. Shawn seemed to finally notice his fascination, and he dipped his head lower to his, fiery silk falling into his eyes. "Is there a problem, Mr. Ido?"

"Your hair…" he began softly.

"My hair is a problem?"

He shook his head. "No, it's…"

A single good-natured chuckle erupted from inside him. Without thinking about what he was doing, Issac lifted his hand towards Shawn's face, brushing the long bangs from his eyes, and then reluctantly withdrew his hand. 

However, Shawn circled his wrist with strong fingers and didn't let go. For one long moment, he held his hand, his fingers mere inches from his mouth. Issac realized that if he wanted to, he could reach right over and run his fingertips across his lips. Or, if he wanted to, he could tilt his head just so and kiss those same fingertips. Perhaps even draw them into his mouth, one by leisurely-

Issac jerked his hand from his grasp and thrust it into his pocket. "Thursday would be fine," he repeated, his voice sounding shallow and inconstant, even to his own ears.

For one brief moment, Shawn's hand lingered in the air between them, as if he wanted to reach out and touch his hair. Then his smile still maddeningly innocent, he dropped his hand to his side. "Great. I'll see you then."

And before Issac could say another word, he was gone, leaving him feeling as if they had just made a date, but for the life of him, he had no idea what kind.


	2. 

For Real

*(2/6)

By Sakata Ri Houjun

~****************~

Shawn Hane glanced over his shoulder at the dark paneled door of the Phoenix Advertising, Inc., boardroom and smiled. He wondered what Mr. Issac Ido's expression would have been like if he'd known that while he was going on about fungicide, he'd actually been more preoccupied by thoughts of his hair. More specifically, a curiosity about what he'd look like if it were longer. Even more specifically, how it would feel scattered over his own warm flesh.

He gritted his teeth and groaned inwardly. He had no business wondering about such things. Issac Ido was as far removed from him as he was from the earth's core, and every bit as unattainable. In spite of that, Shawn couldn't quite squelch the idea that had exploded in his brain when he'd overheard the exchange.

How could a human being not believe in romance? That part of the conversation more than any other had him completely confounded.

"Hey, Tommy," he called out to the man who was seated ramrod-straight behind a massive maple desk.

Thomas glanced up. "Yes, Shawn?"

Shawn sauntered over to the desk and perched himself on the edge. He saw Thomas frown at his action, but pretended he didn't. "What was all that about in there?"

Thomas's gaze rose from Shawn's knee to Shawn's face, his expression indifferent. "What was all what about in there?"

"That stuff about a party. And Mr. Ido not having a date." He paused a moment before adding, "He actually doesn't believe in romance?"

Thomas dropped his gaze back down to the keyboard of the computer before him. "I'm sure I haven't the vaguest idea what you're talking about. Obviously you weren't listening while you were eavesdropping."

Shawn smiled. Touché. "Oh, come on, Tommy. You can trust me."

Thomas began to type vigorously and ignored Shawn.

The red head sighed. "Okay, never mind. I just wanted to let you know that he's not the only one in a bind. I'm going to be at the Parmentier Masque myself, you know."

That seemed to get Thomas's attention, although he did a good job at hiding it. His fingers on the keyboard only faltered a moment. "You?" he asked.

"Don't sound so surprised," Shawn responded wryly. "I am, after all, the owner of a thriving business, even if it's not one located in Manhattan. But I'm going to be doing the landscaping for the event as well."

Thomas stopped typing and turned to look at him again, and, immediately, Shawn felt uncomfortable with the scrutiny. For some reason, Thomas seemed to be sizing him up for something, and Shawn didn't like it one bit.

"What?" he asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

The other man's dark eyes narrowed more, as if he were trying to look through Shawn and into his very soul. However, before he could answer the question, the door to the boardroom opened and Issac exited.

"Thomas-" he began. But he halted when he saw Shawn seated so familiarly on the other man's desk. "Oh. Mr. Hane. You're still here."

"Just leaving," he said as he jumped up again. "But I'll come back Thursday to spray."

He nodded. "Fine."

"Tommy," Shawn said, bobbing his head toward the other man in farewell. "Loosen up."

Thomas raised his eyebrows in what could have been any number of responses. 

With one final glance at Issac that inevitably became a long, lingering assessment of everything, Shawn lifted two fingers to his forehead in salute and made his way toward his tools. Taking care of office plants really wasn't a part of his job, but he always insisted on tending to the Phoenix account himself. Not just because it was one of his most lucrative, but also because Issac Ido was just too good to be true.

Issac was the kind of man who seized some one's heart with both fists without even realizing his strength. For seven months, since taking on the account at Kenji's suggestion, Shawn had tried to garner enough nerve to ask the man out. But every time he came within two feet of him, the question dried up in his throat. Today had been the first time he'd touched him. And all he could do now was replay that one brief caress in his mind over and over.

He had been every bit as soft as he'd thought he would be. Softer still. And now it was going to be even more difficult for him when he saw him again. Because that single, simple touch just made him want the man all the more.

Trying to pretend he didn't notice that was still in the room, he gathered his equipment and looked around for his assistant, Kenji. Unfortunately, the guy was nowhere to be found. Of course, that was nothing unusual. Kenji Nakama had a way of making entrances that drove Shawn nuts.

"Knock knock, buddy."

Shawn nearly jumped out of his skin before spinning abruptly around. As if his thoughts had conjured him up, Kenji stood immediately behind him, crowding his space. He was the same height and build as Shawn. His dark green eyes were lively, and a bandanna held his outlandishly dyed hair back from his tanned face. 

"Dammit, Kenji, do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?" he asked innocently.

"Sneak up out of nowhere like that and pull that dumb routine. You scared the shit out of me."

Kenji laughed, a rich peal of delight. Past Kenji's shoulder, Shawn noticed Thomas jerk to attention. The prim man stared at Kenji with his mouth agape, as if he had just been hit in the back of the head by a rock. But when he saw Shawn watching him, Thomas quickly dropped his gaze back to his computer screen.

"Good." Kenji said when his laughter subsided, bringing Shawn's attention back around. "You need to keep on your toes."

"How can I not be with you around?" 

The other man smiled but said nothing more. Together, the two of them collected their equipment, rode down to the first floor in the freight elevator, and packed everything away in the dark green van scrolled along both sides with the words Divine Mountain Landscaping, Inc.

As Shawn buckled himself in, Issac's words came back to haunt him, and he ground his teeth in frustration. The guy who watered the plants every Tuesday, he grumbled to himself. Evidently, that's all he was to him. Still, he couldn't quite forget the expression on his face when he'd circled his wrist with his fingers. For someone who didn't believe in romance, Issac Ido sure did have some starry eyes.

"So, you got a thing for the Issac guy, huh?"

Shawn's attention snapped to his companion, and he eyed Kenji suspiciously. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged and gazed out at the rows of taxis and delivery trucks surrounding them. "I saw the way you were looking at him."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Hey, Shawn, it's no big deal. Everybody needs somebody. It's only natural."

"Not in this case."

"Because you're both men? Geez, what is it with people and their narrow minds these days?" he murmured.

"What are you talking about?" he countered.

Kenji sighed. "Nothing. What's the story with his secretary?"

"Thomas?" Shawn found Kenji's curiosity odd, but told him, "I don't really know him that well. Why?"

"Just curious." He smiled smugly.

"Are you going to ask him out?"

"Maybe. Why don't you ask Issac out?"

Shawn detected a quiet, but very real challenge in his friend's tone. And Shawn had never been one to turn away from a challenge. Well, not until Issac Ido, he reminded himself grimly. The realization just made him grow that much more irritable.

"Maybe I will," he told Kenji as he gripped the steering wheel fiercely. "Maybe I fucking will."

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Thursday afternoon found Shawn exactly where he'd been Tuesday morning, in the Phoenix Advertising, Inc., boardroom, fondling palms and being ogled by Issac Ido. Because that's the only way he could think to describe the way he was looking at him from where he stood, framed by the boardroom door. The moment he'd approached him in his office some minutes ago, his eyes had gone all dewy again, and his body, one minute all ridges and angles had eased into a softer, more inviting repose. And the way he was looking at him now…

Shawn drew in a non-too-steady breath and held it, waiting impatiently to hear what Issac had to say.

"Is this going to take long?" he asked.

Depends on what you mean by the word 'this', he thought wildly to himself. But what he said was, "No. It shouldn't take very long at all."

"Because everyone's on his or her way out now," he pointed out unnecessarily, jabbing an index finger over his shoulder. Behind him, a parade of pinstriped personal was lined up in wait for the elevators. "I was under the impression that you were going to be here earlier."

"Well, I meant to be, but I got a little tied up this morning at the nursery. I've been running behind ever since."

"I really need to be leaving too," he added. "I, um, I have plans for the evening."

"I understand," Shawn told him, trying not to dwell on the fact that he had plans for the evening that obviously included someone other than himself. "I'll do this as quickly as I can."

Issac nodded, but said nothing more. Instead, he continued to stand in the doorway, staring at Shawn. His black wool suit, which he supposed was meant to be conservative and elegant, was actually about the sexiest thing he'd ever seen a man wear. All Shawn could do was wonder how it would feel to loose each button one by one and slip the garment leisurely away. Preferably by candlelight. Or moonlight. Or no light at all. Hey, he wasn't picky.

"Mr. Hane?"

Shawn forced himself to focus once again on the task at hand. Unfortunately, he couldn't quite remember just what that task was. "Hmmm?"

"You were going to spray."

"Yes. I was."

"So why don't you?"

"Because you're still standing here, and, like I told you the other day, this is going to smell kind of nasty."

Issac stepped away and began to pull the door closed behind him. "I'll just wait out here then, okay?"

"That's fine."

Issac closed the door behind himself and paused to catch his breath. Why, all of a sudden, did Shawn Hane fascinate him? He'd been coming to water the plants for months now, and he had scarcely noted his comings and goings. Now, out of nowhere, all he could do was relieve that one brief moment when he had held his hand, and wonder what it would be like for him to touch him like that again.

And then there were those dreams he'd been having for the last two nights. The kind that featured him and Shawn. Wandering mountain paths and bathing in hot springs. Kissing and hugging. Naked. That kind of thing. Just where on earth they were coming from was anyone's guess. Issac had never been to the mountains or to a hot springs of any kind, especially with a man. But one thing was for certain. Thanks to thoughts of Shawn, he had been completely unable to keep his mind in his work lately. And that just wouldn't do.

Ever since earning his Master's in marketing four years ago, Issac had quickly and effortlessly scaled the corporate ladder, reaching the top rung. He was one of the best in his field, well respected and much admired. Phoenix Advertising was a top ad agency, well on its way to becoming number one. It was all Issac had ever wanted in life, to be a professional success. Nothing else had mattered at all. Women, romance, and all the accoutrements that went with them, had never been a concern for him. On the contrary, he had gone out of his way to avoid romantic entanglements. Not only were they too time-consuming, but also he'd simply had no reason to want one.

Until Tuesday morning. Until Shawn Hane had curled his fingers around his wrist and gazed at him with those impossibly beautiful eyes. Now it was all Issac could do to remember that he had a job, let alone perform it to his fullest capacity, something that had once been his sole reason for rising in the morning. Instead, he spent his time behind his desk wondering was Shawn would look like naked. Wondering what it felt like to want another human being as badly as he wanted professional success. Wondering what it was that drew two human beings to a bond like that. And what it would be like to follow that wanting, to let it guide him through the process that led to its fulfillment.

And he could understand none of it. Why the sudden fascination with something he'd never been interested in before? Why, out of nowhere, had this desire for…well, desire…been born?

"Issac, you're still here?"

Issac turned to find Thomas studying him with much surprise. He was shrugging into a trench coat, angling the collar up behind his neck as if he were already outside, trying to ward off the chilly spring breeze that still carried hints of winter.

"Mr. Hane is just finishing up," he said. "He and his assistant will be done shortly."

Thomas's expression grew inquisitive "Shawn's assistant is here with him?"

"Mm-hm." Issac looked around. "At least, he was here a minute ago. I don't know where he went. Oh, wait, yes I do. He said something about seeing to the plants in the Xerox room that he forgot about on Tuesday."

Thomas nodded, and then seemed to remember something. Pressing his fingertips to his forehead, he muttered, "Damn. I forgot to tell you that Mr. Malcolm called this afternoon while you were out. He wanted you to return his call before the end of the day. I apologize for the oversight."

"That's alright," Issac told him as he glanced down at his watch. "Malcolm never leaves his office before seven anyway. I still have time to reach him."

Thomas nodded again, and as soon as Issac was out of view, made his way briskly to the Xerox room. As promised, he found Kenji Nakama tending to a long row of cacti. Even though he had his back to the older man, and even though he didn't move, and even though he had entered silently, Thomas knew he was aware of his presence. And even though he was the one who had invaded his turf, Thomas decided to let Kenji be the one to speak first.

"I've never seen a cactus before coming here," he said without turning around. "They seem so uninviting when you first meet them. But despite the tough act they put up, they're very soft inside."

Thomas nodded. "I agree. Just like Tasuki used to be."

Kenji turned to gaze at him, his smile flirtatious. "What do you mean 'used to be'? He still is a hard-assed idiot. But Chichiri's the same way too."

"This time around, I'll agree with you," Thomas replied dryly. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest, as he always did when the conversation turned to the subject of his closest friend. "But I'm not surprised that you're here since you were the closest one to Tasuki."

"Kouran sends her best wishes."

Thomas ignored that and asked instead, "What are your intentions? Who sent you?"

"You know very well who sent me."

"Why?"

"Because you're not doing your job."

"Says who?"

"Says Suzaku." Kenji turned around to make his way across the room. When he stood nearly toe-to-toe with Thomas, he dipped a finger beneath his necktie and ran his thumb over the silky fabric. "Nice," he commented. "And expensive, I'll bet. But from what Genrou told me about you, you always did have good taste."

This time it was Thomas's turn to smile. "Jealous?"

Kenji shook his head slowly. "Not a bit. I'm not the one in deep shit here."

"I suppose that's meant to be a threat?"

Kenji released his tie and settled his fisted hands on his hips. His blue jeans and long-sleeved shirt were more than a little snug, and it was impossible for Thomas to ignore how attractive Kenji was.

"You were supposed to have helped Chichiri by now, Hikou," he told him. He should have found Genrou ages ago. Yet here he is, still in denial about himself and love in general."

"That's not my fault," Thomas countered. "I had no idea where Tasuki was until recently."

"Yeah, right under your nose. And how did he get there? Why yours truly took care of that little detail. Thank you very much."

Thomas made a face. "You never stop, do you?"

Kenji shook his head. "Nope. That would make me boring, and you'd hate that, wouldn't you? And I think that we need to collaborate in bringing Chichiri and Genrou back together. It is their destiny."

"Says who?" Thomas asked again.

"You know who says who. Suzaku."

"Remind me again what his interest in all this is?"

"Suzaku's the god of love, dumbass," Kenji reminded him. "Don't you think he's going to be a little concerned that his seishi aren't content? Don't you think he's going to do what ever it takes to make sure that Chichiri and Genrou find each other again? Ever since Genrou died, you saw how much it changed your friend."

"He lost his faith in Suzaku after that." Thomas nodded, remembering the sorrow his friend felt after being separated from his soul mate in that manner.

"Sure, they have good fortune and happiness as a side effect of being reincarnated seishi. But they're soul-bonded. Hikou… That's serious shit."

"Yes. I suppose it is." Thomas sighed wistfully and rubbed his eyes. "But I haven't the faintest clue as how to open up Houjun's eyes and notice Tasuki."

Kenji sighed too before adding, "That's why I'm here. You need help in bringing out some of the old Chichiri."

Thomas nodded reluctantly.

Kenji grinned and took the older man's hand in his own, twining their fingers together. "Lucky for you, Hikou, I have an idea."

He gazed down at his hand linked with the former bandit's, marveling at the odd heat that wound up his arm and through his chest, to settle heavily in his midsection. It was quite unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. For a moment, he could think of nothing to say. And finally, when he did speak, he couldn't entirely prevent the uncertainty that crept into his voice.

"Yes," he said softly, and he tightened his fingers around his. "I suppose that is lucky."


	3. 

For Real

*(3/6)

By Sakata Ri Houjun

~****************~

Issac cradled the telephone receiver between his ear and his shoulder, nodded impatiently, and tried to concentrate on what the man at the other end of the line was saying. He now leaned back in his chair with his feet settled atop his desk, crossed as the ankles. The five minutes he had planned on spending on this conversation had actually become twenty-five, and he was anxious to conclude his business and be on his merry way.

We're working on it, Malcolm, honestly, he said. Just give us another week. We'll have a campaign for you new perfume that will knock your socks off. What? A name? Well, um Issac hated it when the clients wanted to get specific before he was ready. We, uhwe've been bandying around True Love, he confessed, caught off guard and unable to come up with a better idea. Hastily, he added, But we're by no means-"

An eruption of words from the receiver halted anything else he was about to say. But where Issac had been prepared for a string of condemnations, what he heard instead were exclamations of delight.

You actually like that? he said before he could stop himself. I mean, of course you like that, but we have a number of other ideas we're exploring and-" More words curbed his explanation, and Issac sat dumbfounded, shaking his head in wonder that his client was so enamored of True Love.

he mumbled. if you say soNo, no problem. We'll get right on it.

With a few more requisite pleasantries, he ended the conversation and hung up the phone. Then he sat motionless at his desk, completely bemused. Yet another man who was overcome by ravings and whimsy when confronted with the suggestion of True Love. Issac was stumped. What was going on with the masculine psyche these days?

Mr. Ido?

Issac glanced up at the summons, only to once again confronted by Shawn Hane when he had been expecting Thomas. Still pondering Malcolm's reaction, and once again more than a little bothered by the other man's presence, he failed to alter his posture.

All finished? he asked him.

He nodded. Yeah, but that's not why I'm here.

He arched his eyebrows in a silent query.

We, um, we have a little bit of a problem.

Instead of looking at his face, as one would assume a person would do when starting a conversation, Issac noted that Shawn's gaze seemed to be angled lower, at right about desk level. He turned his attention to what he seemed to be studying, only to see his feet still perched atop his desk.

Immediately, and as casually as he possibly could, he lowered his feed to the floor and stood with all the dignity he could muster. Unfortunately, at the moment, that wasn't much.

A problem? he repeated. What problem?

Shawn shook his head slightly and finally seemed to snap out of his reverie. He gazed levelly at Issac's face for a brief moment, long enough to let him know that he'd been caught taking inventory. And he smiled, as if he wanted him to know that being caught didn't bother him one iota. The he looked past him, toward the windows behind him that Issac knew offered a stunning view of Manhattan, especially now, at sunset, when the weather was clear.

Turn around, he told him.

Still puzzled, Issac did as he asked, only to find himself gazing out not at dazzling cityscape skyline, but at a nearly opaque sheet of white.

he said incredulously. 

Blizzard is more like it, Shawn corrected him.

He shook his head in disbelief. But it was fifty degrees this afternoon. Twenty minutes ago, there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Yeah, wellnow there's a lot more than a cloud in the sky.

This is crazy. We've never had a blizzard in April before. What kind of meteorologists are the local channels hiring these days anyway?

I don't think you can blame this one on the meteorologists. This is a freak storm if ever there was one. It came out of nowhere and looks like it's already dumped several inches of snow on the ground.

Issac reached for his coat. We'd better get out of here while we can.

I think it's a little late for that.

But-"

Shawn shook his head again. There's no way we're going to be able to navigate in that shit. Gods know when the snowplows will be able to make it out. And it'll be dark before you know it. You don't want to get stranded out in something like that, even here in the big city. Hell, especially here in the big city. We'd be better off staying here where it's warm. And safe.

Oh, no, Issac thought. I don't think so.

The last place he intended to find himself was snowbound with some total stranger who wore his hair in a rebellious ponytail and had eyes that looked like they were made for howling at the moon. For some reason, he just didn't think it was a good idea.

Then he remembered that he and Shawn weren't alone. If he was still here, Kenji must still be around too, right?

he conceded reluctantly. I guess you're right. We've got some meager provisions here. There's a fridge in the employee lounge, and people tend to keep snacks in there overnight. Yogurt, candy bars, that kind of thing. At least we won't starve.

Shawn nodded. Good. Then we should be able to get through this night with relatively little incident.

Relatively little incident, Issac echoed to himself. That remained to be seen.

With three of us, though, we'd better think about rationing, he said.

Shawn repeated, clearly confused.

Kenji's still here, isn't he?

No, he left with Thomas about twenty minutes ago. Just before the snow started.

Kenji and Thomas left? Together?

Shawn nodded. He said they were going to go have a drink together. He smiled devilishly. Just between you and me, I think there may be a little romance blossoming there. Who knows what will happen if the two of them get stranded together out in this?

That's nonsense, Issac told him.

Why? Because you don't believe in romance?

No, because Thomas's never exhibited an interest in anyone, let alone a guy, since I've met him. And he says he can't be bothered with He halted and eyed Shawn suspiciously when the significance of his question finally jelled in his brain. How do you know I don't believe in romance?

He shrugged. I heard you say so.

he demanded.

The other day. When you were talking to Thomas.

You were eavesdropping?

No, I wasn't eavesdropping. How could I help but overhear a conversation that was taking place a few feet away from where I was standing?

Maybe you could have minded your own business, that's how.

he interrupted his tirade. He took a few steps forwards, and his voice softened some as he modified his objection. But when the older man narrowed his eyes at him angrily, he immediately corrected himself. Mr. Ido.

he asked petulantly.

It's going to be a long damn night, so let's not get off on the wrong foot.

I'd say we're already off on the wrong foot.

He strode a few more steps, an action that left him standing directly in front of his desk. Issac noted again his build, his beautiful eyes, the tantalizing fit of the cotton that covered him from neck to waist, and the wild red hair that was bound at his nape. Involuntarily, he drew in a ragged breath, reveling again in the scent of him, that dark earthy, primeval fragrance that spoke to something equally primitive and barely restrained inside him.

Shawn extended his hand slowly across the width of his desk and said, Hi. I'm Shawn Hane. I'm twenty-three years old, single and self-employed. I own and operate a landscaping company. I also paint in my spare time. How about you?

His introduction seemed harmless enough. Gingerly, his mahogany eyes never breaking contact, Issac placed his palm lightly against his and, cued by his introduction, responded, Hello. I'm Issac Ido. I'm twenty-seven years old, single and self-employed. I own and operate an ad agency. In other words, I convince people to buy things they really don't need at all.

Shawn smiled and tightened his fingers around his. Nice to meet you, Mr. Ido.

Issac smiled back, not quite able to ignore the warmth of the flesh pressing against his. Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Hane.

Call me Shawn.

Call me Mr. Ido.

He bit his lip, but Issac still detected the hint of a smile there. He knew he was probably being overly formal, but for some reason, he felt it vital to maintain some kind of distance between himself and Shawn, however meager.

Whatever you want, he said as he inclined his head forward and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. Then he added softly, Mr. Ido.

This time, Issac was the one to bite his lip, but it was with anxiety, not humor. This was not a good situation, he mused. Snowed in, all alone with a man he scarcely knew, neither of them free to leave until When? What if the blizzard kept up all night? What if no one could make it to the office the following morning? What if he and Shawn couldn't make it out? What if they were stuck here for days? Days that led into nights? Nights that led intoany number of things?

So what if? a little voice inside him piped up, a bit more carelessly than he would have liked to admit.

So they could starve to death, he immediately answered himself.

Depends on your appetite, the voice taunted.

Issac chose not to reply to that. Instead, he looked up to find Shawn was still standing on the other side of his desk, still holding his hand in his, still smiling as if he knew something he didn't, still more handsome that any man had any right to be.

Damn him.

he began eloquently. Slowly, cautiously, he withdrew his hand from his and dropped it to his side, trying not to notice how cold it became without the warmth of Shawn's rough palm embracing it.

Shawn echoed, his smile growing broader.

Issac tried again.

the younger man repeated.

Issac drummed his fingers against his thigh and sighed. Are you hungry?

Shawn's eyes fairly twinkled at the question, but his reply was relatively tame. Not really. I had a late lunch. I'm okay for now. How about you?

He cupped his hands over his upper arms. I could use something hot to drink. They turn the heat off in the building at five o'clock and don't turn it on again until five in the morning. It could get a little chilly in here tonight.

I wouldn't worry about that. We'll find some way to stay warm.

Issac gripped his arms tighter and tried not to think about the kinds of methods Shawn would use to keep them warm. Instead, he told him, Yeah, there should be plenty of coffee.

Now that I could use.

Issac rounded the desk in a few idle steps, pausing before Shawn. The lounge is this way, he told him, inclining his head toward his office door.

I'll follow you.

He nodded, knowing his suggestion was the wisest, since he had no idea where the lounge could be, but for some reason bothered by the fact that he would be walking along behind him, instead of the other way around.

Issac sighed deeply. It was going to be a long night.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~*

You don't think we're overdoing it, do you?

Kenji played with the sake bottle before indulging in a generous taste. He sat beside Thomas at the bar in Le Cirque, the two of them the sole inhabitants of the restaurant, and stared at the swirls of white that danced in a frenzy outside the windows. The establishment had emptied of patrons shortly after the snow had begun, and the proprietors had shut it down entirely less than an hour later. That hadn't, however stopped a former bandit and his companion from enjoying Happy Hour there.

Thomas sipped his drink idly and shook his head. I can't help but worry if we're overdoing it.

These things can't be overdone, in my opinion. We can clear it away in the morning. No harm done. He took another long pull from the bottle. Assuming of course that Genrou and Chichiri do what they're supposed to do tonight.

Thomas made a wry face. I have faith in your old friend.

This time it was Kenji who shook his head. I don't know. Chichiri seems more uptight than ever. I know that Genrou's been dreaming about his past life since he first saw Chichiri seven months ago, but I don't know if it's been the same for your buddy.

I think he's been getting his memories back since Tuesday, when Tasuki first spoke to him. But I don't think Houjun's too anxious to get involved just yet. It's too soon. Thomas sighed. He changed too much after he lost Tasuki. I'm not certain he's willing to open himself again to that sort of loss. At least subconsciously.

You may have been Chichiri's best friend, but you didn't know him like I did. He changed a lot after he lost you and Kouran, but he managed to love my best friend all the same.

You have no idea what you're saying. You didn't grow up with him.

Maybe not, but he told me all about you. Kenji grinned.

And I've had plenty of time to observe you as well when you were alive.

What's that supposed to mean?

Thomas sipped his drink and smiled. Times change, Kouji. People and spirits, like us, have too since then.

You don't need to tell me that. But I am glad that I get the chance to drink sake again. It's been too damn long. 

Thomas laughed as Kenji chuckled, but he then sobered quickly. Do you think Tasuki and Houjun will make it in this world?

Kenji lifted the bottle to his lips again. They'd better or else all this would have been for nothing. I hate wasting my time on lost causes.

But you've always had such a soft heart, haven't you?

Kenji scowled. So what if I do? You have a hard but cute ass, Hikou. He snickered before continuing. And besides they will find their way to each other, even though we had to get involved.

As you said, it's their destiny. Our job is simply to clear the path.

Kenji nodded, but still seemed uncertain of the outcome. As he turned to gaze mesmerized at the blizzard again, he said softly, I had no idea we could create something like this together, Hikou. It's pretty damn impressive.

Thomas took another sip, his thoughts a jumble of confusion. Eyeing Kenji speculatively over the rim of his glass, he took another sip of the sweet wine, holding it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing, relishing the heat that eased down his throat and into his belly.

I imagine, he began slowly, settling his glass back on the bar, that there are others things we could undertake together that would be, as you so put it, pretty damn impressive.

Kenji turned to meet Thomas's gaze and grinned. Why, Hikou, he said coyly. I didn't know you cared


	4. 4

For Real

*chapter 4

By Sakata Ri Houjun

~*****************~

Well, that's it for the Snickers.

Issac stared into the mini-fridge in the corner of the employee lounge, his jacket and tie discarded some time ago. Shawn sat at a nearby table watching him, quietly going mad. He told himself the reason he felt so wired was because of all the coffee he'd had to consume in the last several hours. But he knew that caffeine was the least of his worries. What was making him feel on edge, bothered, and fidgety was the sight of Issac. As he watched the older man bent before the fridge, he found himself entertaining ideas he had no business entertaining.

He and Issac were so wrong for each other. But that thought did nothing to curb his desire for him. On the contrary, it only made him wonder wildly just what kind of sparks the two of them would generate rubbing off on each other. In a manner of speaking.

Are you warm enough?

Issac's question jolted him out of his reverie and back to the here and now.

The word was strangled when it emerged from his mouth, so he cleared his throat and tried again. Fine. Justfine. Plenty warm.

You sure?

Again, his response sounded a bit rough, so he wrapped his fingers around his coffee mug and raised it to his lips. Warm didn't begin to describe his current situation. Hot, raging inferno of lust might be a little more appropriate at this point. Oh, man, he thought, was there anything that could make this predicament any worse than it already was?

As if playing a very bad joke, the lights above them flickered once, twice, three times. Then they extinguished themselves completely to plunge Shawn and Issac into complete and utter darkness.

Great, he thought. This was just great.

Oh, no. Issac's voice was quiet, close, and full of dread. This can't be happening.

Don't move, Shawn told him. You're closer to the door, so I'll get up and come to you.

He rose from his seat and began to move slowly and cautiously toward the older man, his arms outstretched to ward off any foreign object he might encounter. Within a half-dozen strides, he found Issac. Unfortunately, with his hands held out before him the way they were, his fingers were actually what found Issac first, and they found a part that was firm, warm and considered off limits to virtual strangers.

In spite of his discovery, Shawn didn't, couldn't, immediately remove his hands. He was too stunned, too surprised by what he'd done, and too mesmerized by the feel of his chest against his hands. Issac smelled vaguely of incense, a scent that somehow seemed appropriate for him, despite hiding behind his conservatively cut suits. And the feel of him beneath his hands was nearly too much for him to bear. Shawn was about to press his luck, about to apply a firmer pressure, when Issac's voice cut through the darkness and stopped him.

Mr. Hane, if you don't mind

Immediately, he came to his senses and dropped his hands to his sides. But not before he noted that the older man's breathing had become as ragged and unsteady as his own.

he mumbled. I, um, I didn't mean toI mean

There are some candles and matches in one of the drawers, he interrupted him, ignoring his apology. Even though it was dark, Shawn could sense the stiffening and tugging at his suit. Birthday cake candles. We, um, we normally have a little party when someone in the office has a birthday. Excuse me a minute while I find them.

Shawn felt Issac move away from him, and when he did, he inhaled slowly, deliberately trying to steady his heartbeat and hoping he couldn't sense just how close he'd come to kissing him. He wondered what he would have done if he had. If he'd followed his instincts and roped his arms around his waist, then covered his lips with his and plundered his mouth the way his libido commanded.

Issac probably would've slugged him in the eye, he thought. And, he supposed, he couldn't have blamed him when he did.

The scratch of a match brought him around, and in a small, pale circle of gold light, he saw Issac's face. His cheeks were flushed pink and his eyes were round and huge. Shawn didn't think he'd ever seen a man more entrancing than he was. And if he didn't know any better, he would almost have thought he had never seen one more aroused.

That's better, he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper. Issac fumbled with a box of candles, spilling the contents out on the counter, then quickly picked up one and lit it. He dripped some wax onto the bottom of an upturned paper cup, and then anchored the candle there. He repeated the action with three more, scooped up the rest of the candles and dropped them into his pocket, then handed two of the makeshift torches to Shawn.

Let's go back to my office, he said. I think it may be a little warmer in there. Certainly there's more room to move around.

In other words, Shawn thought, it would be easier for him to put more distance between us.

Good idea, he conceded reluctantly.

They made their way to his office slowly to keep the candles lit, then lined up the cups along the edge of his desk. Shawn watched as Issac emptied his pockets of the rest of the candles, noting the meagerness of their light supply. It probably wouldn't be sufficient enough to last until dawn. Then again, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, as far as he was concerned.

Issac seemed to notice, too, because he bent forward and blew out two of the burning candles. Might as well make them last as long as possible.

he returned noncommittally.

He dropped to sit on the floor before Issac's desk, leaning back against the smooth teak that almost seemed to glow golden the scant light of the candles. He supposed he could have taken a few steps to seat himself in the chair opposite, but for some reason, he wasn't sure he could have made it without stumbling. He expected Isaac to move to the other side of the room, or at least to the other side of his desk, but much to his surprise, he knelt beside him, scarcely inches away. His astonishment must have shown on his face, because the older man smiled.

I, umI'm cold, he said. Would you mind

Without hesitation, he lifted his arm, an elbow slightly crooked, in invitation. Gingerly, as if having second thoughts, Issac twisted to sit on the floor beside him. For a moment, he didn't lean back against him, just continued to sit watching him guardedly. Then, evidently coming to the conclusion that he was harmless enough, or maybe just too cold to react otherwise, he angled his body against his. Shawn curled his arm around his shoulder and pulled Issac close, half-expecting him to jerk away, pleased when he felt him relax instead. Lifting his other arm, he hooked his fingers together to draw him nearer still.

Not a good idea, he decided at once. Having Issac this close, and being completely unable to take advantage of their position, was definitely not conductive to coherent thought.

It was, however, warmer this way. Much, much warmer.

Issac murmured. I'm sorry. Justthe cold was beginning to get to me.

That's funny, Shawn thought, it's the heat that's beginning to get to me.

No prob, he told him, rubbing his hands briskly up and down his upper arms. I have a coat out there with my things, too, if you want it.

No, that's okay. This is fine.

For a moment, neither said a word. Then finally, Shawn broke the silence by asking, I guess this really put a crimp in your plans for the evening, didn't it?

What plans? The words were out of his mouth before Issac realized what he'd revealed. He bit his lip, hoping he wouldn't notice his mistake.

No such luck.

I thought you said you had plans tonight, he said as he moved his body a little to the left to facilitate a better view of Issac. I mean, I thought you had a date or something.

Um, actually, he began, 

You were just going to go home and pop a cork on a bottle of wine all by yourself, weren't you?

Issac nodded. Yeah. Sorta.

He smiled. Me, too.

Issac adjusted his position to look at him, but said nothing further. For a long moment, his gaze locked with Shawn's, but he remained quiet and never turned away. When he seemed no longer able to tolerate the older man's silence, Shawn shifted a little closer to him and gazed back.

Finally, he asked, Why do you keep looking at me like that?

Issac felt himself blush, felt the heat that had warmed his midsection since Shawn's arrival in his office creep up past his heart, along his neck, and into his face. He hadn't meant to be caught staring. Then again, he wondered, how could he not stare? His embrace had roused something in him he'd never bothered to explore. Some indistinct, undefined longing to be as close to another human being as one could be. A reaction to something warm, something wonderful, something beautiful. Something that simply was Shawn.

Scrambling for an excuse, any excuse, he panicked and uttered the truth instead. It's your hair, he said softly.

What about it?

I was just wondering

Wondering what?

Um, howhow long is it?

Without hesitation, and without taking his eyes from Issac's, Shawn reached behind himself and tugged the rubber band away to free his hair. It fell in an untamed cascade of fire just past his shoulders, and he negligently nudged it away from his eyes.

he told him, fingering a few stray strands into place. That's how long my hair his.

Before Issac could form a reply, Shawn lifted a hand cautiously towards his face. He paused a moment, as if waiting to see if he would object. Issac told himself that he should object. But he didn't say a word. His silence seemed to be all the response he needed, however, as he slowly, ever so slowly, reached behind him and he curved his palm gently over his nape.

Issac's heartbeat quickened as he traced his fingertips gently over his neck and along the smooth line of his jaw. He stroked the pad of his thumb along the slim column of his throat, halting the caress where he knew the pulse was raging wildly. Shawn grinned when he realized how profound was the effect his simple touch had ignited in the older man. Then he leaned forwards.

And you said you don't believe in romance, he murmured.

I don't, Issac insisted. But his voice lacked the conviction he'd once felt so strongly.

Have you ever been in love?

He shook his head mutely, wondering why he had posed such a question, wondering why he was bothering to answer it.

Again, he shook his head, but still he said nothing aloud.

Not even once?

Issac hesitated only a moment before telling him quietly, 

So you don't know what it's like to feel that roiling wonderful uncertainty in your gut? That utter confusion that clouds your mind until you can't tell up from down? That vague, daydream state of mind that turns even the most logical of humans into a fucking poet?

Again, his voice was quiet as he responded simply, 

That dizzying ecstasy that overtakes you for one brief instant when you begin to understand that the person you love might possibly be falling for you, too?

No. I've never felt those things.

He sighed and shook his head slowly, clearly disappointed by his inexperience. That's too bad.

Issac didn't like the judgmental condemnation that laced his words. He stiffened as he asked him, So I guess you have felt those things before?

Shawn seemed to grow a little guarded as he admitted, Yeah, once or twice.

You fall in and out of love a lot, do you?

I wouldn't say that.

You just did say that.

he relented. I've been in love a couple of time. But not-"

Then how can you say that true love exists? If true love existed, people wouldn't fall in and out of love the way they do. As unobtrusively as he could, Issac pulled away from Shawn's grasp.

I didn't say I experienced true love, he countered, staring as his empty hands as if he'd just been branded with a red-hot iron. Just that-"

Love and romance, Issac told him, are nothing but an illusion. Or, more accurately, they're the result of good PR.

It's true. The only reason people fall in love is because TV and movies and magazines tell then to. The reason romance exists is because major corporations spend lots of money to advertise in the media and keep it alive.

Shawn expelled a rude sound of disbelief. You don't honestly believe that.

Of course I believe that. It's what I do for a living. He shrugged negligently. It's essential that romance be kept alive, because without it, the economy would collapse.

Shawn made a doubtful face. So it's an economic thing.

Of course it is. Sex sells. It's a cliché, but it's true. Romance is responsible for the sale of everything from flowers to hygiene products. Without it, no one would be adding to their wardrobes for socializing. No one would go out to eat or to the movies or to the theater or whatever in the numbers they do now. Think of how many people would be out of a job if romance, if that the promise of true love, disappeared.

What you feel when you think you're falling in love, Mr. Hane, he concluded, is actually just a reaction to a really good ad campaign.

Shawn eyed him warily for a moment, and then scrubbed a hand over his mouth, along his jaw, and into his hair. You honestly believe that? he finally asked.

Yes, I do. It's my job.

Instead of arguing, he threaded his fingers through Issac's hair, cupped the back of his head, and pulled him toward himself. His face hovered within inches of Issac's for a moment, and then he covered his mouth with his own.

It was an extraordinary kiss. Issac wasn't sure he'd ever felt quite the way he did when Shawn lips touched his own. For a moment, all he did was brush his mouth lightly over his, and then he closed his lips over his lower one and gently tugged it inside his mouth. He traced the older man's lip with his tongue, and when Issac gasped his delight, ventured more deeply. Softly, gently, as if painting feathery strokes on a delicate canvas, Shawn tasted him fully as he dared. And all Issac could do was enjoy it.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Issac leaned toward him, gripping the heavy cotton of his shirt with hungry hands before splaying his fingers open over his chest. Beneath his fingertips, he detected raw strength and poetic beauty, something that just made him want to explore this man more intimately. Instinctively, and as if of their own free will, his hands crept higher, over his shoulders, down his arms, gripping salient biceps before curving around to his back. And with every advance Issac made, Shawn echoed his motions.

He felt his fingers twine in his hair more fiercely. Then Shawn curved his hand gently around his neck once more, tilting his thumb against his jaw to tip the older man's head backward and facilitate an even more thorough kiss. Before Issac knew it, Shawn's fingers were working at the buttons on his shirt, unfastening them one by one, until the cool air of the office whispered against his bare skin. Only then did Issac realize how far things had gone between the two of them, and only then did he pull away.

But he didn't get very far.

Shawn's fingers were still curled around his nape, their gentle insistence keeping the older man from fleeing entirely. That along with the fact that Issac just didn't want to flee. Instead, he simply sat where he was and stared into those eyes that had haunted him for days.

Why him? He wondered. What was it about Shawn that compelled him in a way that no one had before?

Why are you looking at me like that?

Shawn's question was the same one that had started their embrace initially, and somehow, Issac thought, it seemed appropriate for ending it now. But he couldn't quite find the words he wanted to put him off. Instead, he covered his hand with his, carefully removed it from his neck, and placed it back in his lap. 

he began.

Mr. Ido, he corrected him.

But he shook his head and smiled almost sadly. Not anymore, he said softly. Never again.

With visibly trembling fingers, Issac refastened his buttons. All the while, he was more aware than ever of Shawn's gaze scanning him from head to toe and back again.

Mr. Ido, he feebly insisted again, unable to meet Shawn's eyes.

He said nothing in response.

So Issac, too, remained silent as he rose to his knees, then to his full height, and made his way around the desk to take his seat in his big, leather-bound CEO chair. He had hoped such a position and posture would restore his confidence completely. Instead, it just made him feel silly.

Not cold anymore?

Shawn's voice came to Issac from the other side of his desk, when he remained seated on the floor. He couldn't see him from where he sat, but he was certain he was grinning, mocking him.

he replied, striving for indignation, fearing that he sounded indecisive instead. I'm not.

That's funny, he heard the younger man reply. Suddenly, I'm not cold, either.

Issac sighed wearily in frustration and wondered how much longer the two of them would be trapped here together.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

At some point during the night, Issac managed to doze off, and when he awoke in the morning, he was alone. He was also stretched out on the sofa that spanned one wall of his office, and couldn't recall having moved there on his own. He was also covered by a leather trench coat that he didn't recognize.

The last realization more than any of the others caused him distress. He wondered what happened to Shawn.

Mr. Hane, he immediately corrected himself. Where could he have gone?

He glanced over at the windows behind his desk to find that the morning had dawned beneath a bright blue sky harboring not even a trace of the previous night's storm. He could almost convince himself that the blizzard, and the turn of events that had came about because of it, had never occurred. Until his gaze fell to his desk, and he noted the stubs of birthday candles melted down the sides of a quartet of paper cups.

Then he remembered how Shawn had kissed him as if he were the answer to a prayer. How he had kissed him back in much the same way.

Oh, no, he groaned, lifting a hand to cover his eyes.

How had such a thing happened? How could he have allowed things to go that far? Just because he had been snowbound with an attractive man, and just because the lights had gone out and reduced them to candle lit surroundings that were more than a little romantic, and just because the way Shawn had looked at him made him fell wanted and needed, and just because the things he had said had roused emotions inside him he never felt before 

And the dream he had last night that those actions had apparently inspired didn't help him with a solution at all. He could still replay fragments of that dream, of Shawn and himself snowbound in the mountains and huddled together beneath a pile of blankets, entangled in a way that couldn't be mistaken in an endeavor to offer and seek warmth from the bitter cold. 

There was only one way to deal with this, he told himself. He must make sure he never had cause to be alone with Shawn Hane again. Infatuations were dangerous things. They caused a person to be preoccupied and fanciful, something that detracted from what was really important. Work. Issac had a major ad campaign to arrange, and he had only a few days to do it. Vivid dreams about a handsome man with a ponytail would only prevent him from doing his job. And his job was what was most important.

Bottom line.

His office door flew open then, and Thomas Ray entered. At first he didn't see Issac, but made his way resolutely toward his desk with a sheaf of papers. When he spun around, however, and saw him lying on his sofa, he halted.

he said, clearly shocked by his appearance. What on earth are you doing here at this hour, and looking as if you slept here? You didn't spend the night here, did you?

Issac managed to fold himself into a sitting position, and automatically reached to straighten the wrinkles in his shirt. Of course I spent the night here. In case you didn't notice, there was a major blizzard last night. It happened so fast, ShawnI mean, Mr. Hane and I never had a chance.

Thomas narrowed his eyes as him. Shawn spent the night here, too?

Issac nodded.

Thomas's gaze dropped to the coat covering his lap. I see.

He detected more than a small hint of suspicion in his friend's comment and held up a hand to stop it. Oh, no you don't. You don't see at all. It was perfectly innocent. And just what happened to you last night? ShawnMr. Hane said you and Kenji left together.

Thomas's gaze dropped to the floor. well, um Actually, Mr. Nakama asked me to help him carry some things to his van, and how could I decline?

How chivalrous of you, Thomas, Issac observed wryly.

He nodded a bit anxiously. Then, when we got down to the garage, and I noted that it had begun to snow, I decided it might be best if I went directly home myself.

Shawn said you and Kenji were going out for a drink.

Thomas cleared his throat indelicately, glanced up at Issac again, and then quickly back down at the floor. Yes, wellhe did actually mention stopping off somewhere for a drink, but

Well, I didn't think it was a very good idea. He's not my type.

And, as I said, by then it had begun to snow, so

Thomas straightened, stretched his neck a little, as if his collar had become too tight, and then folded his hands behind his back. Shall I bring you a cup of coffee?

Issac nodded. Please. But hold my calls for a while, okay, Thomas? I need to wake up a little first.

He nodded and hustled out, closing the door softly behind himself. Issac stood and strode to the bathroom connected to his office, moaning when he saw his reflection in the mirror. His russet hair was a mess. 

He shrugged out of his suit and into a spare change of clothes that he kept at the office in case of emergency, bypassing the extra suit for a pair of jeans and a soft green sweater instead. For some reason, he didn't feel like working today. Lucky for hm, he was the boss and could give himself the day off.

he called out when he heard him return.

Yes, Issac.

He exited the bathroom briskly and collected the leather trench coat from the sofa where he left it. I'm going to be out of the office today. Would it be a problem to rearrange my schedule?

He quickly ticked off his agenda in his head and said, No. There's nothing pressing. Where are you going?

Issac was surprised to hear him ask. Thomas was far too professional to wander about his employer's personal life. He eyed his friend warily. 

He shrugged. In case something pressing does come up.

Sounded logical enough, he thought. Still, he found himself reluctant to reveal his destination. Instead, he fingered the softly worn leather sleeves of Shawn's coat and felt the fabric grow warm beneath his touch. It reminded him of the way his hand had felt brushing against his own the night before, and his face grew warm.

I need to return something to someone, he said softly. I'll take the pager. If you need me, you can beep me.

But-"

Have a nice weekend, Thomas. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

And with that, Issac gathered his things along with Shawn's and left his office, taking the first self-induced holiday he could ever recall giving himself.


	5. 5

For Real

*(5/6)

By Sakata Ri Houjun

~****************~

Divine Mountain Landscaping and Nursery was located in Connecticut, but it was in no way difficult for Issac to find. The place was huge, sprawled across several acres of green grass, dotted here and there with steamy hothouses, and surrounded by softly sloping hills and valleys. Where the hills and valleys ended, groves of trees began, lush and proud evergreens and fruit trees on the verge of bursting into full spring bloom.

Funny, Issac thought, how the line of last night's massive blizzard seemed to have stopped right at the edge of New York City. Certainly, it hadn't touched Connecticut at all.

The tires of his car crunched over gravel and stray bits of cypress mulch as he pulled up before what appeared to be the main building. When he threw open his door and stepped outside, he was assaulted by the fragrance of pine and freshly turned earth. The aroma reminded him instantly of his dreams of wandering vast mountainsides with Shawn, and not for the first time, he wondered why the owner and operator of such a large business came in person to water the plants in his office every Tuesday.

Because it was good PR, he answered himself immediately. Making the customer feel like they were number one was always the right way to do business.

Issac pushed his way through the front door and was greeted at once by Kenji Nakama, who breezed through another door to Issac's left. When the young man saw him, however, he halted abruptly, and for some reason looked a little guilty.

How odd, Issac thought. Kenji's expression was almost identical to the one Thomas had worn in his office scarcely an hour ago.

Mr. Ido, he said, bobbing his head in greeting. Can I help you?

Is Mr. Hane here? Issac asked.

The other man nodded. He's in the back room. You want me to go get him?

Issac shook his head. That won't be necessary. If you'll just point me in the right direction

Within minutes, Issac found himself knocking on a discreet door. From inside, he heard Shawn's voice calling out, It's unlocked.

Slowly, Issac cracked open the door and peaked his head in, expecting to find the younger man getting his hands dirty. Well his hands were dirty, but not with soil. He was standing before a large canvas with a rainbow of paint splattered up to his elbows.

The name rose softly from his throat, carried on a breath of disbelief as if whispering an incantation.

he replied without thinking.

He smiled as he set down his brush and picked up an equally multi-colored towel while he strode towards him, wiping his hands. What? No Mr. Hane'? His hand flew to splay open over his heart. Why, Issac, I'm touched. Really, I am.

He ignored both his sarcasm and his gaffe. Mr. Hane, I need to talk to you?

What can I do for you?

Issac nodded over his right shoulder, toward the door he had just entered through. I have your trench coat out in my car. Thank you for loaning it to me last night.

He smiled, that maddeningly knowing smile that sent an involuntary, and not unpleasant, squirm wiggling through the older man's entire body. Any time, he returned. He then walked past Issac towards a potted flower blooming in vibrant shades of scarlet and picked it up. Do you mind if I make a stop off at one of the greenhouses to drop this off?

Not at all, Mr. Hane. Issac looked around the room, noticing that several canvases lined the walls, each one painted with either a still life of flowers or landscapes. A few were still on easels, covered with cloths to prevent the idle onlooker, like himself, from viewing what had been painted. And then he noticed how much Shawn seemed to fit in among such settings, his worn tee-shirt and faded jeans covered in layers of paint, barefoot on the hard wood of the floor, and his wild hair tied away from his face which did not escape the spattering of paint.

Shawn led the way, exiting through the back door and heading down a stone walkway towards the threshold of what could only be the most amazing place Issac had ever seen. The glass house was like a monstrous gemstone, the sunlight refracted erratically through windows that were smudged and dripping with condensation, thanks to the elevated heat inside that countered the chill in the air outside. And the aroma that assailed him was exquisite, luscious and poignant, unlike anything he'd ever encountered before. Around him were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of flowering plants, fat green vegetation splashed with delicate blooms in the most incredible colors Issac had ever seen.

So stunned was he by the utter beauty of his surroundings, that his breath caught in his throat, and his thoughts evaporated from his brain. For a moment, he was too immersed in the stark, radiant magnificence of nature to notice anything else. He'd had no idea that such a place as this could exist on what was and otherwise pallid planet.

Shawn placed the potted flower he carried on the floor, next to several others, and then straightened to face Issac again. Sorry about the detour, but I sometimes have this urge to paint and I've always been particular about the color red. Not that I always do still life, but I've also been painting what comes into my head too. He smiled as he scratched the back of his head. I'm surprised that you came all the way out here just to return my coat.

"Yes, there's another reason why I've come.

What? Don't tell me you drove all the way out here just to see me because you couldn't stand not having me so close? I knew that returning the coat was a lame bit.

Issac sighed, drumming his fingers nervously against his leg. No, Mr. Hane, it wasn't a lame bit. And neither is the rest of what I have to say to you.

Which is?

He inhaled a quick breath, and said as he exhaled it, You're fired.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. I'm what?

You're fired.

He leaned back on his heels, crossed his arms over his chest and smiled at Issac even more. You can't fire me. I'm not one of your employees.

No, but you do work for me, in a sense.

Shawn nodded, made a rather large production of pretending to suddenly recall something, and then slapped a hand to his forehead in mock stupidity. Oh, yeah. How could I forget about being the guy who comes to water the plants every fucking Tuesday? It's something you frequently remind me of.

Issac's reaction was as bland as his was colorful. Yes, well, now you won't have to come in and water the plants every Tuesday. You're fired.

But we have a contract, he pointed out, the businessman in him obviously finally starting to kick in. You signed on for a full year. You still owe me five months.

The businessman in Issac also kicked in then, too. That contract also states very clearly that if I'm ever dissatisfied with your service in any way, I can discontinue it at any time without being penalized.

You've never given me any indication that you were ever dissatisfied with my service.

I am now.

Shawn gazed at him thoughtfully. You're dissatisfied with my service?

Issac gazed back. I believe that's what I just said, yes.

His eyes darkened, and his lips flattened into a tight line. Is that so?

Yes, that's so.

Shawn leaned forward, tilting his head toward the older man's until he was eye-to-eye with him as he could be. Gee, you didn't seem especially dissatisfied with my service last night, he said levelly. On the contrary, I'd say you were extremely satisfied with my service. Or, at least, you could have been, if you allowed things to progress.

Before he realized what he was doing, Issac shot his hand out to push him away, but was prevented from succeeding only because Shawn, clearly expecting such a reaction, intercepted him by catching his wrist in strong fingers. He didn't know what came over him. He'd never struck a living creature before in his life, had never even been tempted to. But there he was, the evidence of his aggression overwhelming, ready to do harm to another human being.

Immediately, he tried to snatch his hand back, but Shawn held onto him firmly.

Hit a nerve, did I? he asked.

You have no idea what you're talking about, he assured the younger man in a less than steady voice.

Shawn studied him intently for a moment, seeming to weigh something heavily in consideration. Just when he thought he would never speak again, Shawn told him evenly, No, you know, I think maybe that's part of your problem, Issac. You don't know what you're talking about.

Issac shook his head, confused by the turn of tables. What do you mean?

I mean you never have been satisfied, have you?

Of course I have. I've-"

Don't bother to deny it. It's obvious you've never been satisfied by anyone.

How dare you-"

It's obvious you've never experienced real passion.

Issac expelled a sound of disbelief, and tried again to free his wrist from his grasp. But Shawn continued to hold him firmly. I'm twenty-seven, he reminded him, temporarily ceasing his struggles, not some innocent high-school virgin. I think I've had my share of passion, thank you very much.

Shawn shook his head. I didn't say you'd never fucked. I said you've never enjoyed real passion. Real passion, Issac, is sort of like true love. Very hard to come by.

Oh, and I suppose you know all about real passion, he countered. You are, after all, the expert on true love.

He seemed to give his charge serious thought, and then he shook his head slowly. No. You know, now that you mention it, I'm not sure I've experienced real passion, either. Mind you, he added quickly, I've had some very nice passion in the past, butI don't think it's been the real thing, pure and unadulterated passion.

Issac took advantage of his preoccupation to give his wrist another yank, and this time he managed to free himself from his hold. He circled his wrist with his own fingers, noting that they were cool and detached and held nothing of the odd heat that Shawn's had possessed.

Well, then, now you have a goal for the future, he snapped. A quest, as it was.

He nodded, rubbing his index finger thoughtfully under his chin. You know, you're right. This could be interesting. What do you say? You want to come with me on the search for real passion?

Issac lifted his chin defiantly. Do you think we can get back to the matter at hand?

Right. The fact that neither of us has enjoyed real passion.

No, the fact that you're fired.

I like my fact better.  
  


Your fact is no fact. It's fantasy.

So you're going to stand here and tell me that real passion, like true love, doesn't exist, and that it is simply the product of great ads, is that it?

Issac nodded and replied simply, 

It has nothing to do with the response of the human heart to certain, ohstimulation, is that what you're saying?

Again, he nodded and again, he offered him a simple reply. 

So, if I kissed you again right now, that wouldn't have any effect of you, right?

Issac felt his face coloring in irritation, felt his belly go all hot and tight inside. He cursed his fair complexion for being so damnably revealing. In spite of his physical reaction, however, he assured him, Of course it wouldn't.

Even though our kiss last night had a pretty damn big effect on you?

Issac dropped his gaze to study the crimson flowers lining the floor. What happened last night was just the result of too little sleep and too much chocolate.

I thought you said things like that happened because of good advertising.

His brain was humming with disorder by now, and he wished Shawn Hane would stop being so annoying and trying to confuse him with his own words. Yes, and that, too, he said, not altogether certain what he had just agreed with.

So like I said, if I kissed you now, you wouldn't have any reaction at all?

Yes, you wouldn't have any reaction, or yes, you would?

Issac narrowed his eyes in chagrin, his head still buzzing with confusion. 

Instead of answering him verbally, Shawn looped one arm around his waist to pull his body flush against his. Issac was so surprised by his gesture that he didn't immediately pull away, and instead opened his palms lightly against his chest. Evidently taking his lack of struggle as an accession, which Issac had to admit that he wasn't sure it wasn't, Shawn combed his fingers through the hair at his nape and angled his head toward his. Then with one final smile, he lowered his lips.

Unaffected, Issac reminded himself stoically as Shawn brushed his mouth lightly over his own. He was to remain completely, totally unaffect What was he supposed to remain again? Oh, yeah. Unaffected.

Yet as Shawn deepened the kiss, unaffected was the last thing he felt. When he claimed his mouth with his, his traitorous hands skimmed up his chest to wind around his neck and into his hair. He pulled the rubber band from his ponytail and tangled the soft tresses in his fingers, then cupped his rough jaw in his palms, marveling at the differences in the two textures. He dragged one hand back down the length of his chest, and then roped it around his waist. Shawn seemed to grow bolder with Issac's insistence, because he pulled him closer still.

Issac felt Shawn's hands on his back, on his shoulders, at his waist, then felt him journey around to the front of him, over his flat stomach and chest. He tightened his fingers in the fiery silk, drawing his head closer to his, their mouths warring over who could consume the other first. So focused was Issac on the feel of Shawn in his mouth, that he scarcely noticed when he took his explorations further. Not until he could feel him dip his fingers beneath his sweater and drag them along the backs of his thighs and over his derriere. Not until that one, solitary, delicious moment when he enjoyed the warm insistence of his palm as it pressed him against Shawn's body and rubbed their groins against each other in rough, erotic circles.

Only then did Issac realize just how far he had allowed things to progress. Only then did he understand just how utterly affected he was by Shawn Hane. Only then did he realize what kind of a mess he had created for himself. And only then did he find the strength to push him away. Hard.

Shawn's surprise at Issac's vehemence was the only reason he succeeded in breaking their embrace. He clearly had the upper hand in the matter, and he had willingly allowed the younger man to take it. Now, however, he was apparently willing to let Issac have it back. For that he was grateful. But not for much more.

At his sudden push, Shawn stepped away from him, but still stood quite close. Issac heard his breath coming in rasping fits and starts and saw that his black pupils nearly eclipsed the vivid gold surrounding them. The taste of the younger man lingered on his tongue, and the earthy scent of him filled Issac's nostrils. Almost involuntarily, the older man lifted a hand out to reach him, but quickly altered the gesture to run fingers through his hair. When he noted that his fingers were trembling, however, he dropped his hand back to his side. Then, unable to tolerate the stark angry look of abandonment in Shawn's eyes, he dropped his gaze as well.

Shawn's voice wavered some, so he cleared his throat and tried again. That's not what I'd call unaffected.

Issac inhaled a fortifying breath and released it slowly. No. No, I guess I wasn't as, uh, unaffected as I thought I'd be.

So now you admit that there's something pretty hot and heavy burning up the air between us?

Yes. I'll admit that.

From somewhere deep inside himself, Issac found the strength to glance up and meet his gaze. He was surprised to find him smiling. Smiling a bit anxiously, he had to confess, but smiling nonetheless.

So then I'm not fired? he asked. He had assumed a very confident pose, but the timbre of his voice assured Issac that he was anything but confident of his response.

He looked down at the floor again, and his heart tightened in his chest. Somehow, at some point during their embrace, one of them had stepped on and crushed one of the gorgeous red flowers that had been on the floor. What had once been a fragrant, vibrant, beautiful existence now lay limp and broken on the floor. Tears stung his eyes, and Issac couldn't understand why. It was only a plant, he reminded himself. It didn't have feelings. Yet for some reason, the death of that flower sparked something dark and grievous inside him.

He recalled that Shawn had asked him a question he hadn't answered, and he looked up to find him eyeing him curiously. Um, no, he finally said. No, you're not fired.

Shawn's smile was full of relief. I take it, then, that you're satisfied with my service?

he asked, still preoccupied by the dead flower lying between them.

he repeated. You're satisfied with my service?

Oh, yes. Yes, I'm satisfied.

Good. Always happy to oblige a customer. It's in my contract after all.

Issac shook his head in an effort to clear the cobwebs from his brain. What he and Shawn might enjoy together would be erotic, untamed, and beautiful. But even the most beautiful things in the world eventually, ultimately died. The two of them had nothing in common beyond a professional contract and a personal desire. Shawn lived in the country, he in the city. And their livelihoods depended on their home base. Shawn seemed comfortable amid natural elements while he was used to boardrooms. Shawn was a wild creature, completely uncontained. He was bound by a specified set of societal regulations.

It would never work in the end.

It might be fun for a little while, but there was no question in his mind that in the end, their relationship would be as dead as the flower. One of them was going to end up getting hurt and Issac didn't want to speculate how he'd react if he allowed his heart to be given away.

I have to go, he said suddenly, turning away.

But before he could bolt through the door, as he had intended, Shawn caught his hand and pulled him back.

he echoed. Why? Where? Things are just starting to get interesting.

Issac allowed himself one final survey of him, starting at his bare feet, up along the lengths of his denim-clad, paint spattered legs, lingering at the taunt, flat belly and truly remarkable chest. His arms too, he recalled were extraordinary, strong and yet gentle, capable of hauling heavy weights. And his hands, he musedtender and masculine, creators of delicate strokes of paint on a canvas.

His gaze met Shawn's then, and he nearly lost himself in those amazing eyes. Issac closed his own, and freed himself. I have to go, he repeated.

But-"

I'll see you on Tuesday, he said softly as he turned away again. Issac forced a lightness he didn't feel into his voice as he added, Don't forget your watering can.

Not wanting to see what effect his jab had on the younger man, Issac hurried through the door and out to his car, spewing gravel in his wake as he sped away. He completely forgot that he still had Shawn's coat folded neatly and primly on the backseat.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Well, that went over well. Kenji shook his head as he and Thomas watched from the office window Issac's car disappearing from sight.

Houjun is behaving most disagreeably. I suppose we are going to have to take more drastic measures, Thomas mused.

Like what?

He pressed two fingers to his mouth and thought for a moment. The Parmentier Masque is next weekend

How could I forget? Kenji responded. Genrou and I are designing the landscape for the event this year.

Thomas turned and eyed his companion thoughtfully. Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Kouji?

He eyed him thoughtfully in return. Well I have spent some time in a forest alone with a girl or two to understand what you're implying

Most everyone will be inside during this chilly weather. And dressed in the theme of Mystic China, no less. How terribly appropriate.

Genrou's already said that he refuses to wear a costume, Kenji acknowledged. But I think he'll change his mind soon.

And Houjun swears he's leaving as soon as possible without offending Mrs. Parmentier, Thomas replied.

The two spirits smiled.

I know that anything can happen when two people are alone in a forest, Kenji said. The solitude does some pretty strange shit to the hormones.

And people, Thomas added, particularly lovers, say and do the most remarkable things at that time.

Kenji looped his arm around Thomas's neck and pulled him close. Oh Hikou, I never knew you had it in you.

He hooked his hands at the small of Kenji's back. I guess you must be rubbing off on me.


	6. 6

Ever True

*(6/6)

By Sakata Ri Houjun

~****************~

Adrienne Parmentier's Midsummer Masque was, as always, packed.  Issac hovered in the corner of the ballroom in the elegantly appointed fifth Avenue penthouse, amid people known as movers and shakers by all the well-known financial publications and anyone who called his or her employer a Fortune 500 company.  People who were normally attired in expensive, conservative suits that revealed absolutely nothing about their moral character or personal idiosyncrasies of their individual style.

People, who tonight, looked more than a little uncomfortable, dressed in the apparel that ranged from embroidered robes of emperors to the coarse wool of peasants.

Issac tugged again at the deep blue robe that was draped over his right shoulder and hoped he wouldn't get any more comments about his hair.  Being told that the style seemed more like an anime that some one's kids watched once was enough to drive him into the corner he was in.  What had possessed him to fashion this outlandish blue wig and actually wear it?  

His dreams, of course.  It's where he got the design for his costume.  A monk.  Of course monks didn't wear their hair this way, but the outfit didn't feel complete without it.  Still, he wished he were somewhere, anywhere, else.

Beside him, Thomas was yanking as unobtrusively on the flowing sleeves of a white robe.  Issac envied his friend, wishing he had thought to wear something as elegant.  But then again, he felt perfectly comfortable wearing the simple, creamy white tunic and deep green pants.

"Honestly," Thomas Ray whispered sharply, "you think that people would do their research.  I've never known empresses to wear such revealing clothing."

"Oh, quit griping like you would know," Issac scolded him.  "At least you look good."

Thomas threw him a pained expression.  The jade talisman against his forehead caught the soft light as he then turned back to the crowd.   Issac's eyes followed, also scanning the surrounding throng of people.  "I still can't believe that I actually came."

"It's good to get out every once in a while, Issac.   I'm actually glad to be in this outfit ag-"  He halted abruptly and hastily sipped his drink.

Issac found Thomas's comment more than a little intriguing.  "Again…?" he encouraged him.  "You wear this outfit a lot, Thomas?"

He squared his shoulders indignantly, the billowing fabric giving him the appearance of one with good bearing.  "Not as often as I used to, no, but…there was a time in the past when I did."

He grinned at his friend.  "I see."

Thomas's expression when he looked at Issac again was inscrutable.  "I doubt very seriously that you do."

He sipped his wine spritzer and returned his gaze to the crowd.  "Malcolm ended up loving Harper's campaign, by the way.  He minored in English in college, too, and loves Shakespeare.  Who knew?"

"It's good to have that outcome resolved at least," Thomas replied cryptically.  "You must be very happy."

He shrugged.  "The client is happy.  That's what's important."

"So your own happiness never comes into play, is that it?"

He turned to face his aide more fully.  "What does my happiness have to do with anything?"

"You see, that's precisely my point."  He, too, angled his body to face Issac.  "You never consider your own happiness.  You never have."

"I thought we were talking about Malcolm and the campaign for the new perfume he designed."

"Oh, I do apologize," Thomas countered, pivoting on his heel to scan the crowd again.  "I thought we were talking about what makes people happy."

"I'm very happy," he assured him, wondering why he was bothering to continue something he'd just tried to make clear he had no desire to discuss.

Thomas responded absently, "Are you?  Good for you then."

"Yes, I am."

"As I said, good for you."

Issac tapped his foot impatiently and wondered why he was fuming about something so silly that had come up for no good reason.  He had nothing to prove to Thomas.  He was happy.  He was.  Really.  Truly.  Honest, he was.  As happy as any person could be.  He had everything he could possibly ever want, a wonderful and loving family, a respected and thriving business, a substantial income, a beautiful home, lots of friends…  There wasn't an area in his life that was lacking in any way, nothing he could add to it that would improve it.

So, dammit, why was Shawn Hane's face constantly lingering in the forefront of his brain?  Even now, as he vowed to himself that he was completely fulfilled, a not-so-hazy recollection of the kiss they had shared among the flowers rose up in his memory as vividly and intensely as if it were happening now.

He noted that Thomas was still studying him from the corner of his eye, and he frowned.  "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," he replied.

"You sound like you don't believe me when I say that I'm happy."

He shook his head.  "No, if you say you're happy, then you must be happy."

"I am happy."

"That's fine."

"I am."

"That's wonderful."

"Thomas."

"What?"

Issac sighed fitfully, shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then sighed again.  "Did, um, did Kenji mention if Shawn was coming to the party tonight?"

Again, Thomas turned to face him.  "What causes you to think that Kenji Nakama would mention anything to me?"

"Well, the two of you have been seeing each other, haven't you?"

He colored a bit, and then looked away.  "On occasion," he said quietly.  But he didn't elaborate further.

"So did he say anything about Shawn being here tonight?"

"I believe he mentioned that he would be attending, yes."

Issac nibbled his lip and forced himself to not to start searching frantically for any sign of him.  He wanted to ask Thomas more, but was afraid he might seem desperate and overcome with longing.  Which, he knew, he was.  But there was no reason Thomas had to know that.

As if he could read his thoughts, however, he told him, "You'll easily recognize him."

Issac shook his head and scratched the back of his neck where the synthetic blue hair was tickling his nape.   It was starting to drive him crazy, the way Thomas seemed capable of reading his mind all the time.

"Who says I want to find him?"

Thomas sighed heavily, shook his head in what he could only interpret as disappointment, and covered his shoulders with his palms, holding Issac firmly in place.

"This has gone on long enough," he told him.  "And it's going to end now."

Issac was so stunned by his action that he didn't even try to pull away from him.  "What are you talking about?"

"Issac…"

He made an exasperated sound, released his shoulders and buried his fingers in his dark hair, gripping the strands until his knuckles grew white.  It was the first time Issac had ever seen Thomas display such an intense emotional response to anything.  And he wasn't sure he was comfortable with it at all.

"Issac," he began again, a little more calmly.  He released his hair and scrubbed both hands over his face, then met his gaze evenly again.  "There's something you must know about me."

"What?"

"I'm not who you think I am."

Issac shook his head, now completely confused.  "I don't understand.  You're not my aide, Thomas Ray?"

"Thomas Ray is the name I have now, and I am without question your aide.  But there's more to it than that."

Issac nodded nervously, his sudden intense demeanor making him feel uneasy.  "What?  You're an international spy engaged in corporate espionage?  Are you about to steal the True Love campaign for some rival Communist ad agency?"

"No, but I have been in your employ under false pretenses."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm more than an aide.  And I've been sent here, so to speak, to help guide you in ways that go beyond the professional."

"Thomas, I have no idea what you're talking about.  Just tell me whatever it is you're trying to tell me."    
  


"All right.  I'm trying to tell you that I'm-"

"That you're what?"

"I'm-"

"What?"

"I'm-"

His patience at an end, he demanded, "Thomas, for pete's sake, what?  What are you trying to tell me?"

He drew in a deep breath and expelled it slowly.  "Issac, what I'm trying to tell you is that I'm…I'm a…"

"Oh…" Issac relaxed and waved him off.  "Is that all?  That's nothing.  What's the big deal?"

He gaped at him, clearly amazed at the reaction even though he didn't get to finish.  "You know?  And you're not mad?"

"Of course not.  Actually, I kind of suspected as much anyway ever since you and Kenji started hanging out together more."

Thomas's expression would have been the same if Issac had just struck him on the back of the head with a blunt instrument.  "You did?"

He nodded a little sheepishly.  "But Thomas, a person's sexuality is completely immaterial in this day and age.  Or at least it should be.  Not that I have any room to judge you.  It's perfectly alright in my view."

"You think I'm gay?"

"You have been dating Kenji, right?"

"That's beside the point and not what I'm trying to tell you."

This time it was Isaac's turn to be confused.  "I don't understand."

He shook his head in obvious exasperation.  "Issac, I'm not a human being.  I'm a spirit."

Issac said nothing in reply.  He just studied Thomas idly and wondered what on earth had gotten into him.

He must have taken his silence as an indication that he was perfectly willing to buy his story, because he continued steadfastly with his tale.  "I come from the past, your past.  We grew up together in you last life within a mythical world controlled by four gods.  You served one of those gods and met a man who was your soul mate.  Of course, by that time I was long since dead, but came back as a possessed demon and almost killed you, however, that's water under the bridge, as it were."

For a long time, Issac remained silent, wondering if maybe he had been demanding too much of his friend recently.  He recalled that he hadn't taken a vacation in some time.  Maybe he should insist that he take a few weeks off.  Check himself into one of those celebrity spas he'd heard about.  Give himself a little mental rest.

"Um, Thomas," he finally began again, "just how much punch did you have to drink tonight?  That stuff is lethal.  I had three cups last year and still have nightmares.  It'll have you thinking you can circle the globe in forty-five minutes if you drink too much of it."

Thomas slumped forward.  "I'm not drunk, Issac.  I 'm speaking the truth.  And that's not all of it."

"Well, gee," he told him.  "Don't stop now when it's just getting good.  Tell me the rest of your story."

He seemed a little more reluctant to do so, but inhaled a deep breath and continued.  "You and your lover survived a war, and attacks by demons and yet remained steadfast in your love.  That was until he died in an accident.  You became bitter and lost your faith in the god to whom you served."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Issac interrupted.  "First off, I don't even believe in God now, let alone some forgotten mythological one."

"I know, but as a servant of that god, you were still blessed in this life with good fortune and happiness for what you endured back then.  Unfortunately, since you lost hope when you lost your soul mate, you have been unable to find him in this one."

"So you're saying that this lover I had back then was reincarnated too?  And why am I even discussing this with you?" he added, not certain why he was bothering.  "You're obviously drunk and have no idea what you're saying."

"He's been right under your nose the whole time and you refuse to accept it because subconsciously you're afraid of losing him again and living with that pain.  I was sent here to open your eyes to the truth since I was the closest to you in the past, aside from your soul mate, of course."

Issac nodded indulgently.  "Oh, right, like I'm supposed to believe that.  Thomas, this conversation is completely-"

But Thomas was insistent.  "It's true.  Every word I've said.  I'm not a mortal like you even though I have a physical body.  I was sent by your god, who is consequently the god of fire and love, to help reunite you with your soul mate so you can have a happy life."

"What do you mean?  I have a wonderful life."

"But you have no one with whom to share that life."

He blinked once and inhaled a quick breath.  Then, very quietly, he said, "That's because I don't want anyone to share my life."

Thomas smiled sadly.  "You're denying yourself your happiness because of your fear.  Everyone wants someone to share his or her life, Issac."

"I don't."

He met his friend's gaze levelly, his black eyes shinning.  "Everyone," he repeated softly.  "It's a law of nature.  No living creature is meant to be alone.  Solitude is a wonderful thing when enjoyed in moderation.  But too many people embrace solitude as a way of life.  And it isn't natural."

"But-"

"Solitude disrupts the workings of the universe, which relies on interaction between all living things to survive.  Solitude is the reason for disharmony.  You were the one who showed me that.  And it's my job to see that you don't wind up alone.  It's why I was sent here to begin with."

"But-"

"Issac."

The summons came not from Thomas, but form someone else.  Shawn, he realized before he even turned around to find him standing behind him.  He would recognize his voice anywhere, not just because of the familiarity of the deep, rugged baritone, but also because of the utter longing that laced it.  A longing he had sensed in the younger man that day in the boardroom, a longing he knew was reflected deep inside himself.

He spun and faced Shawn, finding him dressed in a long, dark coat, pale tan pants and deep ebon boots.  Beads were strung about his neck and a pair of earring dangled from his ears. A weapon of some sort was strapped to his back in a golden holster, buckled across his chest.  And his hair was cut shorter, but no less as wild.

"Oh, Shawn," he said quietly, hoping his words didn't sound shaky as they felt.  "Thank goodness you're here. Thomas has gone absolutely nuts.  He's-"

He spun around to include Thomas in the conversation, only to find that his friend had vanished. 

"Tommy's what?" Shawn asked.

"He's gone."

"So I see."

"No, I mean, he was right here two seconds ago, and now he's…gone."

"You were alone when I came up," Shawn said.  "Just how much of that punch did you have to drink tonight?"

"I haven't…I-"

"Issac, we need to talk."

"Okay," he replied absently, still searching the crowd for Thomas.

Shawn glanced at all the people milling around them, too, but evidently for different reasons, because he wove his fingers with older man's and whispered, "Not here." 

"Then where?"

When he tugged his hand, Issac submitted without hesitation, agreeing that he and Shawn did indeed have something they needed to address.  His thoughts on that score quickly evaporated, however, as he followed in his wake.

When he realized that he was leading him toward the landscaped forest outside, he smiled.  Somehow, their destination seemed appropriate.  The warm evening enveloped them as they passed though the French doors and out onto the patio, redolent of springtime in the city. 

Shawn kept walking until the two of them had wound their way to the center of the grove of trees, and Issac caught his breath at the beauty that greeted him there.  He was reminded of the dreams, roaming mountain paths with Shawn by his side.

Why hadn't he noticed it before?

Without saying a word, Shawn spun around and pulled Issac into his arms, kissing him soundly as he wrapped him in an uncompromising embrace.  He held the older man tightly as he would anything he feared would flee him, caught him so close because he could no longer bear for him to be so far away.  His body beneath his fingers was warn and vibrant, his mouth under his compliant and eager.  For long moments, he only let himself rejoice in the feel of Issac, enjoyed his body's movements against his, his fingers tangling in his hair, his lips dragging open-mouthed kisses along his neck.  Then he remembered he had brought Issac here for conversation, not seduction, and reluctantly, he took a step away.

"Issac, I-"

His words halted in his throat when he looked at him.  He had been so happy to find him in the crowd that he honestly hadn't taken much notice of his attire.  But now that he considered the ensemble, he was reminded of several paintings he had done.  Paintings he had created out of images from his dreams.  He never knew just who the other man was, and had always assumed he was a figment, nothing more.  But seeing Issac dressed exactly like the cheerful lover that accompanied his adventures made him realize that despite the obvious differences, they looked the exactly the same.  

"Wow," he finally managed.  "You look great."

He laughed low.  "You're not so bad yourself."

"No, I mean you look…great."

Issac laughed a little more, but this time sounded a bit uncertain.  "Just call me a monk."

He shook his head.  "I'd rather have Issac."

"No problem," he told him with a smile.  He reached up and unpinned his wig and stripped off a stocking cap that clung to his scalp.  "How's that?" he asked.

He smiled back.  "Perfect."

Issac seemed to suddenly grow anxious, because he took a few steps away from him and leaned against the trunk of a slender birch, it's lower branches dripping with sweet-smelling wisteria. Shawn watched his gaze dart from the fat purple flowers over his head to the rolling white moss beneath his slippered feet, and then back to the black sky overhead, spattered with stars surrounding a full moon that shone brighter than a silver dollar.

"You've done an amazing job with this place, Shawn.  Everything looks gorgeous."

"Yeah, it does," he agreed, his eyes never leaving his face.

"I missed you this week, when you didn't come to water the plants."

Issac's confession jolted him and he covered the brief distance between them to stand before the older man.  He continued to lean against the tree, and, unable to tolerate even that small space between them, he flattened his palm against the trunk above his head, ducking his own toward him.

"Really?" he asked softly.  "I thought you'd be happy to have me gone."

He shook his head and lowered his gaze to the ground.  "I'm sorry.  I don't know what made me say that.  It just sort of came out."

"Don't apologize.  I don't mind that you said it.  As long as it's true."

He nodded.  "It's true.  I have missed you.  I didn't mean what I said that day at your nursery.  I was just scared."

"Of what?"

Issac hesitated before answering him, but finally admitted, "Of having my heart broken."

"Why?"

"I don't want to lose you…again."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Issac continued to stare at the ground, so Shawn crooked his forefinger under his chin and urged him to look up again.  "I promise that I won't leave you again."

His brows furrowed, as if what he were about to reveal to him was painful somehow.  "I'd never had feelings like this before.  I wasn't sure where they were coming from.  They made me feel out of control."  His cheeks flamed pink, and his hands flew to cover them, as if he were embarrassed by what he had just said.  "I didn't know how, but I've felt like I've always known you."

"Well, you don't have to be scared anymore.  I'm here now."  He leaned forward again, settling his forehead against Issac's.  "I love you," he said softly, surprising himself.  He'd never said those words to another individual in his life, wasn't sure he'd ever even felt them.  But somehow, telling Issac he loved him was the most natural thing to do.  It felt good.  It felt right.  And suddenly, everything seemed simple.

"I couldn't possibly have heard you right."

Shawn lifted his head to gaze into his eyes, cupping his chin in his hand, tracing the pad of his thumb over his lower lip.  The older man's eyelids fluttered closed.  Shawn felt an answering warmth rise up inside himself, something rooted deeply that had lain dormant for too long.  He pressed his mouth to Issac's again, and felt him melt into him as surely as he dissolved into him.

"I love you," he repeated again when he pulled back.  "You heard perfectly.  I love you."

Issac opened his eyes and stared at him for a long time, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to believe what Shawn has told him.  Finally, he said, "I love you, too.  Honestly, Shawn, you make me say and do the damnedest things."

He chuckled.  "I was just going to say the same damn thing about you."  Issac began to laugh suddenly.  "What?" Shawn asked.  "What's so funny?"

"I'm reminded of something that Thomas said a little while ago.  I think he's had a bit too much to drink tonight."

"Why?"

He continued to smile as he told him.  "He, um, he thinks he's a spirit."

Now Shawn wondered if he was hearing things correctly.  "Tommy thinks what?"

"Before you found me tonight," he explained, "he was telling me some cockamamie story about me being a reincarnated monk and how he'd been sent by Suzaku to help me find my soul mate."

Shawn laughed too.  "Wow.  I remember being that drunk back when I was in high school, but not lately.  And Suzaku, huh?"

Issac's laughter joined his, and he sounded oddly relieved somehow.  "Yeah."

He bent forward and brushed his lips lightly over his again.  "So who's this soul mate he's supposed to help you find?"

"Mmmm," he said, though whether in response to his question or the kiss, Shawn wasn't sure.  His voice grew mellow and vague as he answered.  "Tasuki."

Shawn dropped his lips to nuzzle his neck and throat, and then skimmed the tip of his tongue along the older man's collarbone.  "Yes?"

"No, Shawn, I mean…  Oh, Shawn…  Tasuki, um, Tasuki is my soul mate."

"And Chichiri is mine, but we don't need any spirit to point that out when we have each other," he murmured before tasting the hollow at the base of his throat.

"True," Issac moaned.  He gasped when he pulled open the fabric of his tunic and carried his kisses lower.  Issac threw his head back as he pulled Shawn closer to his heart, and the last thing he saw before succumbing to the passion, the real passion, was a vision of a crimson man who radiated the warmth of fires and love, smiling.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

"It worked," Kenji said as he watched the lovers from the highest branch of a nearby dogwood.  "Kouran would be proud of you."

Seated beside him, Thomas nodded his agreement.  "Yes, I imagine our work is done here now.  We can return home."

"Oh, I don't know," the former bandit countered.  "I might hang around for a while.  I kind of like it here.  And Genrou, though he is a dumbass, has always been a blast to hang out with.  I like working with him."

Thomas thought for a moment, and then decided his companion had a good point.  "And I honestly can't imagine how Chichiri would manage without me.  Good executive secretaries are very difficult to come by these days.  I'd hate to have to train someone new.  Explaining the filing system alone would be horrendous."

Kenji turned to look at him.  "So, Hikou…you thinking of staying in New York for a while?"

"I suppose I could.  It is a rather interesting place, isn't it?"

"You, um, you maybe need a roommate by any chance?  My apartment building is going co-op."

He gazed at the blue-haired man incredulously.  "Are you suggesting we move in together?"

He nodded.  "Sure."

Thomas laughed.  "Now that I consider it, the idea does have some merit.  Although you realize that you really aren't my type."

"And you're irresistible."

He smiled.  "Yes, I suppose I am.  I guess it's just my charm."

"No, actually, it's your cute but hard ass."

"Kouji…"

Kenji pointed down to the blissfully entwined lovers.  "Besides, look at the good work we do together, Hikou.  I think we're needed here."

Thomas thought for a moment more, and then decided that he had another good point.  "We'll have to get approval from Suzaku."

"No problem," Kenji said, standing.  He extended his hand to him.  "We can make our appearance there.  And then what?  Then we can come back home for some private time.  Oh, that sounds nice."

Slowly, gingerly, Thomas reached up and settled his hand in his.  "Just promise me that you don't carry on conversations in your sleep."

He grinned.  "How about if I promise that there won't be any time left for sleeping?"

"I suppose that shall have to be good enough for now."

They clasped hands firmly together, and together, they disappeared.


End file.
